


bat lightning heart

by iovewords



Series: Spideychelle Music Shuffle [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, MJ is a Vampire, Motels, Smoking, Smoking isn't cool kids, Strangers to Lovers, Vampires, vague reference to sexual predators/abusers (just mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iovewords/pseuds/iovewords
Summary: Peter is on the run and stops at a rundown motel late at night where he meets a mysterious stranger.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spideychelle Music Shuffle [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928152
Comments: 32
Kudos: 37
Collections: The Spideychelle Shuffle





	bat lightning heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts).



> For the Spideychelle Shuffle Game: Vampires by Bat for Lashes (instrumental)
> 
> Took some inspiration from Machiavelien's very excellent vampire!MJ fic ["What Spiders Do in the Shadows"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582128?view_adult=true)
> 
> Title from another Bat for Lashes song "What's A Girl to Do?" I highly recommend checking out her music, particularly her album, Lost Girls, for more spooky 80s vibes.

Peter is falling asleep at the wheel. Not completely, but he’s getting dangerously close. For the past half hour he’s been staring with burning, glazed eyes at the dark road ahead, lit only by the yellow beams of his headlights and occasional streetlights.

Everything is blurring together in hypnotic monotony. The lone late night radio host was keeping him company for a while, but now they’re playing some sort of extended synth-y saxophone instrumental that feels nostalgic and relaxing, and lulls him closer toward dreamland. Peter would switch the channel but everything else is static or cutting in and out, which isn’t all that surprising given that he’s in the middle of nowhere. For days he's been driving aimlessly through small towns and endless stretches of highways, with no destination in mind. He’s not even sure which state he’s in. The important thing is he’s putting in as many miles as possible between himself and New York.

It’s a damn good thing there aren’t any other cars around. His spider-sense buzzes at the back of his neck, alerting him each time his eyes slide shut and the vehicle starts to veer into the opposite lane. It jolts him each time and he shakes his head like a dog, trying to clear his fuzzy mind.

After the third time, he gets the picture and starts checking the highway signs for lodging.

Aha, a motel. That will do.

Fifteen minutes later he’s climbing the stairs to the second level, room key in one hand and duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The place is rundown and near empty with just a few other rusted cars in the parking lot. Flicking on the lightswitch, Peter is greeted with a shabby small room that looks like it was frozen in the eighties. There’s mysterious stains on the ceiling and all over the carpet, but on the plus side, there’s no scent of mold in the air. He’ll take what he can get.

Peter sets his bag on the paisley-patterned bedspread and scrubs a hand over his face. Now that he’s off the highway and has stretched his legs, he feels more awake. He remembers a vending machine downstairs near the lobby, and decides to refill his snack/meal supply for the drive tomorrow. He could use a snack now, actually. He pulls his wallet from his jeans pocket and counts the bills. Not much left. He’ll have to find an ATM in the morning.

Moths flutter in circles around the buzzing fluorescent light beside his door when he steps back outside. The buzzing syncs with the low level hum of his spider-sense, which his brain is alert enough to keep a tab on, though he suspects it’s picking up on the overall seediness of the motel.

Unfortunately his mission proves to be fruitless when he finds the vending machine empty, not even packs of gum left. Peter gives it a half-hearted kick and schleps back the way he came in disappointment.

Someone- a girl- is leaning against the railing near his room when he returns. She’s smoking, a habit he generally finds unpleasant, but she makes it look good.

He’s just about to turn his key in the lock when she drawls, “No luck with the vending machine?”

“What?” Peter says stupidly.

“I said, no luck with the vending machine?” He can hear the amusement in her voice.

Peter turns around. “How’d you guess?”

She takes a drag, dark red lips wrapping around the cigarette with hollowed cheeks, and blows a ring of smoke into the air between them. Her eyes glitter in the low light. “Your face. People have a particular disappointed look when they walk back to their rooms empty handed.”

“And how many people have you observed doing this?”

“Quite a few.”

“I take it you’ve been staying here a while,” Peter says, watching her continue to breathe out puffs of smoke, the ember at the end of the cigarette glowing like a jewel. It’s kind of mesmerizing. He feels like a creep for staring, especially given the location and late hour. He inwardly shakes his head at himself to knock it off.

She notices though, and her lips curve into an even bigger smile. “Want one?” She reaches into her black jeans pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

“No thanks,” Peter says, putting up a hand. “I don’t. Uh. Smoke that is.”

The girl shrugs. “Your loss.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that and scratches the back of his neck. He should go inside now, since it’s clear the awkward conversation is over. But she’s staring at him, her gaze sharp and intrigued. There’s a slight tilt to her head, like he’s a puzzle to her she can’t figure out. He hopes so. He doesn’t want anyone to know who he is.

Then he says, “I’m Peter.”

_Idiot._

To his surprise, the girl responds in kind. “Michelle. Though my friends call me MJ.”

His brain continues to want to be outwardly embarrassing and say something like, _So am I a friend then?_ But he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t flirt. He squashes the stupid comment down before it can come out.

“My friends don’t have any nicknames for me,” he says. There, slightly less stupid. She’s so pretty, his brain is scrambling like eggs.

“But you do have friends.”

Peter furrows his eyebrows. “Yes? I have friends.”

“You sound a bit defensive there. Kind of like someone who’s lying about having friends.”

“I have friends!” Peter insists, feeling his cheeks heat up. Not that he’s spoken to any of them recently. His phone has remained shut off and buried at the bottom of his duffel bag.

Michelle laughs. “Relax- I’m just messing with you. I’m sure you’re Mr. Popular back home.”

He chuckles awkwardly and shrugs. “I guess you could say that.”

She twists her upper body slightly to tap ash off the cigarette over the edge of the railing. “So why so far from home, Mr. Popular?”

“I’m just passing through,” Peter replies, vaguely. “What about you?”

“Likewise,” she says. “But I’m finding I don’t mind staying here for a while.”

Peter frowns. “Really?” He looks around the establishment, taking in the drab peeling paint, the near empty parking lot, the lack of any other buildings nearby save for a gas station. “Isn’t it… boring?”

“Not if you have an active imagination,” Michelle smirks, taking another drag.

“So you just… hang out here? What do you do all day?”

“Sleep.”

Peter laughs and she laughs too.

“What else do you do? People watch?”

“Oh yes,” Michelle nods. “You can learn a lot about people when they think no one’s watching.”

“Like what?”

“The nature of their hearts. If they’re kind or cruel. If they take pleasure in hurting others and abusing their power.” Her face darkens, going from lighthearted to deadly serious like the flip of a switch.

“That’s true,” he agrees. “There’s a lot of shitty people out there.” He thinks about the monsters he’s faced and fought back home. The ones who hurt the most vulnerable in society. The ones who sit comfortably in seats of power and take advantage, take money, take everything.

“Do you think bad people deserve to be punished, Peter?”

Peter snaps his mind out of his memories and back to the present, and blinks at her. He thinks they’re thinking along the same lines. “Yes,” he answers honestly.

Of course, then you get into the messier question of what kind of punishment do bad people deserve. Peter generally leaves them wrapped up like a present for the cops and courts to deal with. It’s a method he’s been conflicted with more and more since he’s become increasingly aware that the justice system isn’t always just. Though he’s far less hesitant to dole out full strength hits when the bad people are enhanced like him or especially despicable.

“And do you think _you’re_ a good person?”

“Uh,” he says, looking her straight in the eyes. They’re dark brown and intoxicating. “I think so. I try to be. I think it’s more about action. About being responsible with the power you have.”

Michelle holds his gaze, not blinking. “That’s wise.” She finishes the cigarette and glides toward a nearby trash can to dispose of it in the ashtray. Then she looks at him over her shoulder. “You know, I’ve only just met you, but I think you’re telling the truth about being good. You’re self aware.”

“Thanks.”

She takes a step toward him and he realizes her gaze is now flickering between his eyes and mouth. She’s looking at him with open want. His heart flips in his chest with nervous, hopeful desire.

“What else are you good at?” she asks, an unmistakable flirtatious lilt now.

“Come closer and find out.” Damn, where did that come from?

Michelle crosses the space between them, closing the distance and then suddenly they’re kissing, his hands hovering above her back, then closing around her as her cool hands cup his cheek, his jaw. She runs fingers through his hair and delicious shivers run down his spine. She tastes sweet and smoky and Peter can’t believe his luck, that he’s kissing a beautiful stranger at a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere.

They pull apart to breathe and Peter bites his lip, looking at her. She’s a few inches taller than him.

Taking a deep breath, Peter decides to be even bolder. “Do you…” he glances at his door. “Do you want to come in? I know that’s really forward of me but-”

“Yes,” she says, immediately.

He grins. “Great! Awesome.”

He leads the way inside, feeling oddly self conscious about the shabby room, though it’s not like it’s his own place. He’s glad he hasn’t unpacked and there’s no dirty laundry lying around.

They sink onto the bed, the old springs groaning under their weight. Michelle returns her lips to his, slotting her mouth over his, angling their faces together and leaning into each other. Peter’s hands go to her waist now, and drift slowly upward until his thumbs are brushing the underside of her breasts. Peter feels electric and wide awake, miles from his drifting lethargy on the empty highway earlier that night.

Now her hands creep under his shirt, cold, they’re so cold, and her nails scratch against his stomach, digging into his skin. He groans into her mouth.

“Take it off,” Michelle whispers and he pulls away to lift his shirt over his head. He pauses when she giggles wickedly.

“What?”

“I’ve marked you,” she says, running her thumb across his mouth, making him shiver again. Her red lipstick has stayed impeccably in place, but she must have smeared it against his mouth. He wishes he could see it- he’s sure he looks wrecked with his hair a mess from her roaming hands and his face flushed, but there are no mirrors in the room. Well, there’s one in the bathroom, but he doesn’t want to leave the bed.

Peter proceeds to remove his t-shirt, and throws it carelessly to the side. Michelle’s eyes rove hungrily over him. Then her own shirt is gone, and heat burns within him as he drinks in the swell of her breasts, the black lace of her bra, her lovely brown skin.

They move together again, Peter leaning back until he’s laying on the bed and she’s hovering on top of him, long hair falling over her shoulders. They kiss again, deeper, touching, touching everywhere, and the shivering down his back is constant now, the buzzing in his head louder, but he doesn’t care.

Her mouth goes to his throat to suck at it and Peter closes his eyes. He wants her to mark him all over, claim him as hers. He wants to stay in this motel room forever with her, forget about running, about New York, about everything but this beautiful mystery girl.

He’s so caught up in sweet desire that he doesn’t notice the blaring warning at the base of his skull, or the sharp sting when she bites down.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours- he’s lost track of time lost in a foggy dazed state of pleasure. When she pulls back he sees her lipstick is now smudged around her own mouth. Except no. It’s blood. His blood.

Peter’s fingers drift to his neck and come away wet and red. His eyes widen and she smiles with all of her teeth, sharp fangs glistening.

“You’re… a vampire.”

“Finally caught on, did you?”

“Are you going to kill me?” Peter asks. He’s not afraid, strangely. He’s pretty confident he’s stronger than her, and can escape if he has to. But does he want to?

“No,” Michelle says quickly. He sees her eyes are glowing now. “You’re different from the other men. Your heart is good.” He can’t really tell if she’s lying, but he believes her.

“Are you going to turn me?”

A peculiar look crosses her face. “I don’t… think I can. Your blood is different. You’re not fully human.”

“No,” Peter says, sitting up on his elbows. “I’m not.”

“I do want another taste of you though,” she says, eyes flashing, licking her lips dripping with his blood. It’s a morbid sight and he can’t look away.

Peter waits, but she doesn’t make a move from where she’s kneeling beside him. Her face is alight with hungry greed, but it shifts slowly into a look of curious puzzlement.

“Why aren’t you running? Or fighting? I can tell you’re strong. Stronger than ordinary men.”

“I...don’t know,” Peter admits. “Why aren’t you attacking?”

“I don’t know,” she replies, repeating his words. “You’ve thrown me off my game. My meals are usually dead by now.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry.”

Michelle stares at him, then laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why are you apologizing? You’re so strange.”

Peter gives a half shrug. Then, after considering for a moment, he exhales deeply and steels himself. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Taste me. Bite me again.”

She squints at him suspiciously. “You’re letting me. You want me to?”

“I do.” Peter lays back onto the bed, slowly, and tilts his chin up, baring his bloody neck to her. “You can’t kill me or turn me, so you can’t really hurt me. And you’re hungry. So I can help you eat so you don’t have to prey on another innocent person tonight.”

She listens, nodding her head during his explanation, but her mouth twists into a cold snarl at his last words. “ _Innocent_ ,” she scoffs. “I don’t prey on the innocent. I prey on the ones who prey on the innocent.”

Understanding dawns on Peter, realizing exactly what kind of people she targets, of who she chooses to hunt given the unfair eternal life that she’s been cursed with. Can he really judge her? “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” She crawls on top of him so their faces are inches apart. “But thank you. You’re a good change of pace.” He tilts his chin further to kiss her, and she returns it, filling his mouth with the coppery taste of his own blood.

As her fangs sink into his flesh a second time, Peter lets his eyes flutter shut. He believes he’ll be fine, that his healing factor will protect him, and that she can’t and won’t harm him. But even if she did, he thinks he’d let her consume him.

**Author's Note:**

> @iovewords on Tumblr
> 
> edit: i want to clarify that mj's smoking is part of the front she puts on to attract her prey and look more ~cool and seductive. the fact that it works on peter and he thinks it looks cool on her is intentional. but smoking irl is terrible. don't do it. this has been a psa.


End file.
